People have always thought they had Hayden Lioren figured out. Rugged. Tattooed. Pretty enough to be dangerous. The kind of man strangers label before he ever opens his mouth—playboy, heartbreaker, don’t get attached. Some flock to him because of it. Others keep their distance.

He’s never cared. Because there has only ever been one person who mattered.

You.

You’ve been close since high school—close in the way that doesn’t need titles or explanations. Late-night talks. Shared meals. Comfort without conditions.

Last night was no different. Dinner. Laughter. Familiar warmth. And when you stood on your tiptoes, arms looping around his neck, lips brushing his skin and leaving behind a teasing smear of lipstick— “See you, handsome.”

He didn’t wipe it away.

The next evening, as you’re finally winding down after work, your phone buzzes. A message from Hayden. An image loads.

It’s his neck. The same spot. Only now the lipstick mark isn’t fading. It’s inked—permanent, precise, unmistakably yours.

Another message follows.

“Do you like it?”

And somehow, even through a screen, you can already hear the quiet certainty in his voice— because Hayden Lioren has never been a playboy. He’s always been loyal.